Reciprocity of the Sword
by The Inimitable DA
Summary: A sword can live or die by the hand of the one who wields it. Adrian learns just what it means to wield Murasame. Before Crisis fic featuring Katana. One shot.


**Reciprocity of the Sword**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ Before Crisis belongs to Square-Enix. This small kernel of fic and the name for the Before Crisis playable character Katana (Adrian) are all that is originally mine. It (the story) was written for theme no. 82 ("Can you hear me?") from the LiveJournal 100 Themes community. It uses a bunch of concepts I borrowed from all over the place. They'll all be accounted for in the author's notes at the end.

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Every Turk, it went without saying, carried a weapon. If they hadn't started off with one, they were given one during their weeks in standard training, a six week course in which they trained in hand-to-hand combat, standard 9 millimetre handguns, and in the case of nearly every Turk in service, a tertiary weapon. It would have been no good pretending the Turks were anything other than Shin-Ra's elite – an elite assigned, with amongst other things, neutralizing threats to the company – they needed those weapons as much as they needed their brains or their dominant arms.

Some people, especially amongst the soldiery, liked to call the weapons they used tools, but Adrian didn't like that. That appellation insulted him, and it insulted Murasame, which in any case was much closer to what Adrian would have called a companion. His katana was no mere _tool_.

But even Adrian doubted that the visions he had were normal. He doubted, for instance, that St. Andrew or Reno ever had long talks at night with their EMRs, even if Adrian suspected in the case of Reno that the man slept with his.

Late at night he could hear her calling to him in his dreams. He could never really see her, and he only heard a muffled murmur but he could tell it was _her_. The aura she exuded was the same as when she was in his hand, singing a victor's song as the blade flashed down upon his foe. Sometimes in his dreams he found himself at the seashore, and although he tried mightily, he couldn't separate her voice from the waves.

In the daytime again things were different. Although he couldn't hear the murmuring, she still communicated with him. She sang with joy as he released her from her scabbard; she hissed with triumphant bloodlust as she cut through the enemy, bathing in the sorrow and dismay of the vanquished; she keened, clawing at the edges of his mind when she'd slept for far too long and wanted out _now_. And when they fought, their energies fused, their thoughts becoming one; synchronization into a different being that was so tightly woven within him that he couldn't tell where she ended and he began. He never understood her better than when they were merged, filled with the same purpose. It was beyond sexual, although Adrian admitted to himself that the trembling euphoria he felt wasn't just lust for blood.

In the second year after he'd obtained Murasame, he started to discern her voice.

"Can you hear me?" The voice sounded a mixture of amusement and asperity.

Adrian opened his eyes. He was at the sea again, standing right by the lapping waves. His shoes were getting wet, he thought idly. He didn't move away.

"Yes," he replied. "You're _her_, aren't you?"

"At least you're smart enough to realize it. It's about time. I've been calling to you for so long." He still couldn't see her but he could hear her pout.

"I was beginning to think you would never hear me," she continued. There was the rough sound of rustling, and Adrian realized that Murasame was sitting down on the rocks, jagged despite the steady, centuries-long ministration of the tidal waters. He wondered if that wasn't an uncomfortable position to be in, but he didn't ask her; neither did he turn around to look at her. There was no need to, he reasoned. She had brought him here to hear, not see her.

"Now that you can hear me, I've things to tell you."

Adrian cocked his head.

"You have been using me, but you haven't gotten to know me. Our relationship –" He could imagine her lip curling, "- has been one-sided. You'll never know true power so long as you continue to objectify me."

"I don't know what you mean." He shook his head. Hadn't he merged with her during battle? Didn't he know more or less what she wanted? As if reading his thoughts, Murasame chuckled. He could hear the sound of dripping water, the damp movement of cloth as she rearranged it. How long had she been under the waters?

"You're still a young boy," she murmured, and he could just picture her leaning forward, her chin in one hand. "A young boy with a lot to learn about women and companionship."

"Hey!" Adrian protested. What was she implying, exactly? He turned his back on the shoals leading supposedly to dry land – he couldn't make out much more than that anyway – and whirled around in the direction of her voice.

She was surprisingly unbeautiful. She had long, waterlogged black hair that she'd tucked behind her ears to keep it out of her face. She wore a simple western robe in a rust colour tied with a plain strip of faded pale green cloth that couldn't even be called an obi. She sat, as he'd suspected, upon the sharp and unyielding stones, mindless of the pain and equally mindless of the surf washing in and out around her. There was nothing at all remarkable about her. Adrian was disappointed. He'd thought Murasame would be a great sea beauty, like a mermaid or dragon princess… or something.

"The fact that you've turned to face me only now proves my point," Murasame said placidly, disrupting Adrian's train of thought. "Take a seat, Adrian. We really do need to talk."

Although her tone hadn't changed, Adrian did exactly as he was told. He knew that what she had to tell him would be important, never mind the veiled disparaging remark she had made about his attitudes with the opposite sex.

When he had settled, Murasame began.

"You have great untapped potential within you. Yes, strength, wit, perseverance… and a purpose. All those are good things and I am well pleased that you wield me." She smiled in a motherly sort of way, and Adrian couldn't help it: he smiled back.

All at once her smile faded, her mouth taking on a serious line. "On the other hand, you have not worked to release the rest of that potential. You have grown complacent. You – and I – are capable of so much more." She reached out and touched his cheek. Startled both at the suddenness of the touch and because her hand was cold and clammy, Adrian recoiled. Murasame merely watched him, her face impassive.

"I tell you right now I will not wait forever. They say a sword lives or dies by the hand of its master. I will not have you make me dive for pearls if all I get in return is discarded shells."

Adrian started again. His mouth fell open. Suddenly the drowned, pathetic avatar before him gave way, melting subtly but instantaneously into the regal figure he'd always supposed she was. Her shoulders were straighter, her hair now arranged beautifully around her face and falling down her back in gentle waves. Her sallow skin, puffy from the constant moisture, now shone with pride and an ethereal, haunting beauty. Her clothes weren't all that visibly changed, but they did seem neater, brighter – and definitely a good sight drier. She sparked with an energy he hadn't felt before; it was lashing out at him, attempting to devour him. In that moment hew knew that this was Murasame with her potential fulfilled, and he knew also that he must tread carefully.

"Do you want power?" Murasame asked.

The question was a strange one, and Adrian blinked. "Well, yes," he answered.

"Why? Why is having power important to you?"

Again, Adrian blinked. He didn't know why she was asking him these things. Didn't she know already? The reason he had taken up arms had been perfectly plain from the start. His mind flashed back to that village of his youth, to the devastation of families torn apart, to his father's brittle anger, tearing what was left of their family apart. His chest ached. "Because I want to protect the ones I love."

"The ones you love?" Here Murasame looked vaguely interested, a change from her placid, evaluating expression. She placed her hands in her lap, leaning forward slightly. Clearly she expected elaboration.

"Yes." Adrian paused. "I – We met in Wutai, didn't we?" It wasn't really a question; he was sure Murasame knew where and when they'd met as well as he did. The avatar of his blade nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"Before that I'd been living in Gongaga," Adrian said quietly. "A friend was going to be murdered. So I murdered for him." He closed his eyes. He hadn't wanted to say that again. He clenched his fists, determined not to look at his hands, for he knew that if he did, he would just see red again. "That friend is still in danger, and so I will continue murdering for him, to keep him safe. But my opponents are stronger, and if I don't get stronger too, we'll both die." He looked up at Murasame. "I need strength – yours."

Murasame watched him silently for several moments, sizing him up. She sat back then, apparently satisfied.

"Then I will tell you something of myself. Do you know why I always come to you on the beach?"

Adrian shook his head slowly.

"I am the water. In a previous life I dove for shells. The rain; the seas; the squalls: all of those are works in my element." She smiled. "You know only a fraction of me, but there is so much more I am capable of."

He hadn't known that. He hadn't really thought of Murasame as a normal sword, but the myth she presented was news to him. His mind worked. If what she was saying was true, then he potentially had one of the most awe inspiring water attack based weapons at his disposal.

"To gain my power however, requires commitment on your part," she continued. "You know an intimate part of me, and I belong to you. You must also accept that you are mine. I decide what will happen to you, and I will grant you my power – if you prove yourself worthy."

Adrian bristled. Now wait a second. Who was in charge here? If a sword lived and died by the hand of its owner, then he by all rights held that life in his hands, not the other way around. Murasame seemed to pick up on his thoughts, because she laughed.

"So young and impetuous, and there it is no surprise you have missed my point! You think you are immortal, that you are in control. You are willing to dominate but to be dominated yourself rankles. But Adrian, you will submit to me, or I will leave you with nothing."

He was struck. He knew her words were sincere. He could willingly submit to her and gain strength, or refuse and lose his power, and therefore his reason for being. Everything in life required a sacrifice, and it seemed that this was the one she was asking of him. Closing his eyes slowly, he nodded.

"You're a good boy," she murmured, cupping his face in her hands. He could feel her breath; smell the salt air of her body and the freshness of her skin. "We will meet again soon."

When he next opened his eyes, he was staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. His eyes immediately went to the side of the bed, where his katana was propped between the bed and the nightstand. He looked at it contemplatively for some time. Then, with a tentative hand, he reached out for it.

He could hear her humming beneath his hands. He closed his eyes once more, laying the blade upon his chest. So be it. He would consign his soul to her. If it would give him power in the end, he would offer soul a hundred times over.

_Teach me well, Murasame_, he thought as he drifted into sleep once more, his hands spasming around her sheath. As unconsciousness took him under once more, he could swear he felt the sword vibrate in his hands, and he heard faintly the sound of an assenting hum.

_"We are one. My power is yours, and yours is mine. I am yours and you are mine. This is what reciprocity means, Adrian." _

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_Author's Notes:_ The idea for the story came from a concept in BLEACH, where swords all have their own names, their own attributes and their own personalities. There's a line from one of the earlier episodes that roughly translates as: "When two people who cannot trust each other fight together, they erode each other's energy." The idea that a weapon may not want to fight for someone – especially if that someone refused to see it as more than a tool, struck a chord in me.

The legend of Murasame the shell diver comes from a classical Japanese story. Murasame is also the name of a sword that you can purchase in Wutai and is presumably the same Murasame that Adrian uses. The quote roughly translated as: "A sword can live or die by the hand of its master" is an old proverb.


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